


Maybe Just A (Little) Concussion

by OscarTheGoldenBoy10 (MaccasWeirdFriend)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Casseroles, Concussions, Good Captains, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Manchester United
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaccasWeirdFriend/pseuds/OscarTheGoldenBoy10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emre may possibly have a concussion and Jordan totally takes advantage of this because he's captain, Philippe helps because he's a good friend and Roberto is just confused because English is hard while Adam laughs at everyone because he's Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Just A (Little) Concussion

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was hoping to have this up on Sunday, or before the match. As you can see, that didn't happen. Still read this though!

"Emre, what are you doing?"

The German in question looked up from his phone to Jordan, who was frowning at him with the typical no emotion stare. At times it was downright scary and this just happened to be one of those times.

"What? I'm not doing anything."

Jordan sighed and sat next to him as he took away the phone with ease.

"You're on your phone, listening to music."

Emre's gaze was blank. What did his phone ever do to Jordan other than the fact that his was much better than the captain's, hands down.

"What does this even have to do with anything? I'm trying not to be bored before we get to my-"

"First off, your music might as well be a blender with a microphone in front of it that had bad connection with the speakers."

Adam raised an eyebrow and laughed, even with Emre scowling at him.

"And," Jordan added as he put Emre's phone in his pocket. "You're coming to my flat because I know you're not going to take care of yourself."

Emre sat opened mouth and would have bit back at Jordan had Adam not started laughing again and Jordan started up his argument.

"There's no one there but your friends, right?"

Emre nodded.

"And they're not even there that much, right?"

Again, Emre nodded.

"So then you have to come over to my house. Captain's rules."

"Why?" Emre practically shouted. "I'm not a child that doesn't remember anything!"

Philippe rapidly started to tap his shoulder in that moment as he was sitting behind Emre and Jordan, shaking his head.

"If Jordan hadn't offered to take you to his house, I would have. Now don't be an idiot and go."

Jordan smiled-why wouldn't he smile, he's got someone on his side, two counting the forever laughing Adam-and looked positively ready to start talking again. This was like talking to Steven all over again. Those two spent too much time together.

"I feel fine! Why are you guys so worried about me? It's not like I have a concussion," Emre argued but he saw Roberto hold up two fingers, nonchalantly still looking at his phone while doing this.

And here he thought Roberto would be on his side. The guy barely knows English but apparently knows enough to know that Emre shouldn't be trusted. Cool. Make the tally three now.

What's so important about that phone anyways?

Joe raised a brow, easily impressed.

"See? Even Bobby knows that you probably have one. That Fellaini guy is a hard hitter and I doubt it was nothing."

Roberto shrugged, suddenly looking confused. That's where his English smarts started and ended, in concussions. Those English instructors really know where it's at.

"It was nothing, how many times do I have to say it? He just surprised me that's all."

"Yeah," Jordan said with a scowl. "As you fell to the floor holding your face."

"And moaning in pain," Philippe added.

"While he just walked away like nothing happened," Adam grumbled, looking like he was choking the air. Or imaging that he was choking the opposing midfielder. The latter seemed more likely and much better anyways.

"And this is the second concussion in less than a month, like Bobby pointed out," Joe said as he tried to bring Roberto into the conversation but he seemed so helplessly lost that it was pretty obvious he was going back to his phone. "I'll be surprised if he doesn't get banned."

"Joe's right. I think Belgians are out for your head bud," Jordan sighed, slouching in his chair.

"Maybe. You think I should-"

"Wrong!" Jordan yelled, effectively scaring Emre into a mini heart attack. "You hit Mama last time, who's French!"

"So you want to get rid of me for forgetting that? I thought you guys were better than that," Emre said through small pants for air.

"You usually don't forget stuff like that," Philippe said with a worried tone. Not Philippe. Anyone but him. If he got Phil worried, there would be no end to it. Gift baskets, worried looks and phone calls would start to pour in. "You forget your keys, or texting someone. But you don't forget stuff like that. I know you and you don't do that."

Philippe gave Jordan a look before hugging Emre. Like he was going to die or something. And he wasn't dying. You don't die from concussions, it's impossible. Right?

"It was just a slip of the mind, okay?

No one was buying it. Even Roberto, who seemed to key into the overall emotion in the bus and shook his head for good measure.

Emre sighed. This was stupid. He was fine, he wasn't hurt, he was just tired. And maybe a little irritated but he could easily blame it on Jordan for trying to scare him to death. His stupid, overprotective teammates. Here's to hoping it doesn't end him.

"Okay, I'll go to your flat Jordan," Emre grunted. Philippe was the first to cheer and effectively squeezed any air in Emre out with Adam laughing at every moment of it.

"Good choice, pretty sure Phil wouldn't let you go if you said gig were going to his flat. You'd be blue by the time we get to the door step," Jordan said with a smirk. He dropped the smirk quickly as he moved to get his phone. "Need to tell the missus that we're going to have company."

"I still don't want to be treated like a kid, because I'm not a kid," Emre grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 22 was not a kid, that was a young adult and if Jordan said he was a kid-

"C'mon, we know you're not a kid, Elexa and Alba are kids. You're just a big baby, Emre."

"Are not! Alba still drools!"

"And you still whine Em. Just admit defeat."

"No, because I'm not a baby!"

"Are so Em."

"Are not! And stop calling me Em, I never said I liked that nickname."

"Okay, okay. You're not a baby Em."

Emre's pout came back at full force only to spur Joe on to start pinching his checks and Adam joining in with little coos.

"You guys really suck," Emre whined. "I should have gone back to Germany the first chance I got."

"Then who would have translated Jürg whenever he got too excited and spoke German?" Philippe asked. So his only use in this team was to be a translator. Not even as a back up center back or a defensive midfielder, but a translator.

He really should have moved back to Germany.

"Roberto can do that too!" Emre shouted.

Roberto looked up at the sound of his name, Philippe waving it off and talking to him in Brazilian Portuguese.

"But I would have to translate him, so that'd take a long time. You're the obvious solution," Philippe said with a smile.

Emre pushed himself further into his seat, muttering bitterly about how unfair it was, ironically looking like a pouting child.

"Em, we were just joking. Don't take it too seriously," Jordan said, patting Emre's shoulder. The younger didn't say anything but looked utterly irritated.

"Em, you okay?" Jordan asked, now just tapping him.

"My head hurts," Emre sighed. He leaned his head against the glass and let out a weak sigh.

"That's not so bad since we've just arrived at Casa de Henderson!"

Roberto face-palmed, looking very much pained by the words he just heard. Jordan sniggered at the sight and ruffled his hair, positively pleased with himself.

Emre gradually got himself up from his seat as Jordan got their sports bags. He waved goodbye but put his sunglasses on quickly. The headache was getting worse.

They got to the front door in no time, all that was left to do was use the keys to turn the lock and getting inside. But Jordan didn't move a finger toward his pocket.

"What's wrong, Jordi?" Emre asked, leaning against the doorframe for support. This headache might as well be a little guy drilling in his head.

"You don't like casserole, do you?" Jordan said out of the blue.

It was so out of the blue that it made Emre shake with silent laughter.

"What? I was just asking so I could tell Becca not to make any."

"You're so weird," Emre murmured under his breath but Jordan didn't hear him at all. "Okay, I don't like casserole."

"Thanks for finally answering."

He opened the door and dropped their stuff by the door.

"I'm home!" Jordan shouted into the quiet flat. Well, for that moment.

The two pairs of pattering feet got gradually louder and louder until the little girls wrapped their arms around Jordan. Rebecca came not too soon after to give a kiss on the check to Jordan.

"Quick thing," Emre spoke into the silence. "Jordan said I shouldn't have casserole because I won't like it."

"What?" Rebecca asked, whipping her head back to Jordan.

"Emre, want to explain yourself?" The captain asked, his cool suddenly going down a step.

"Sorry, head hurts. I need to lie down."

And with that, Emre left the room with the little ones in toe, his sunglasses slowly sliding down his nose.

If we don't win, Jordan thought. I'm going to get that man.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: We didn't win, so I guess Hendo is coming after Can. Good performance by the boys and Fellaini, go the hell away now. It just hurts how irritable he makes me. Comment and such if you so want to!


End file.
